The Real Chicken Pesto Panini
by electric violinist
Summary: Very sorry, here is my real denial one shot.


**AN: The real one shot:**

"Chicken pesto panini and a bottle of water," demanded the mean looking blonde teenager with no hint of a smile in her voice or on her face.

"And a mozerella baguette please," chimed the taller one with hair not unlike the ginger one in Harry Potter.

"And a meat feast pizza, yeah blud?" requested the lad doing a permanent, unnecessary impression of Dizzy Rascal.

Ste sighed as he put it all in the till and asked for the money, then darted about getting it all together. There was no one else waiting so he didn't get panicked, and when they were gone he felt positively bored.

Doug and Texas had taken a load of tasters to HCC which was having some sort of open day. News seemed to have spread that there was free food going outside the SU and the result was a very slow day for Ste. Though he wasn't convinced by Doug's insistence that giving anything away for free was a good idea, Ste didn't mind the quiet. He was inventing a new lunch menu.

It started with a new type of been sausage sandwich he was working on. Nice, succulent and meaty. Then he'd worked on a relish; something he'd worked hard to make it just the right blend of sweetness, flavour and kick. He'd never been one for something without a bit of power and kick to it. Now he was working on sides.

For some reason he couldn't get tashe-shaped chips out of his head.

Why did everything seem to get back to Brendan bloody Brady?

Arsehole.

It was all stupid anyway. They had plenty of options for the deli already. They didn't need more. This was just an exercise in mind control.

His own mind, of course. He had never tried to control anyone else's. He had enough difficulty with just that one.

He considered tearing out that page in his notebook, but thought better of it. Maybe when his head got clearer he could try again. Maybe something more American. Lighter. More fun. Less passion.

No. That wasn't fair. Doug was passionate, in his own ways. And he was totally loving. They'd kissed and cuddled for hours in bed last night. And kissed and cuddled. And held each other.

Of course, Brendan wouldn't have made it as far as the bed with the come-ons Ste had been throwing last night. He'd have taken Ste over the back of the sofa the minute the door to the kids' room had closed.

No, he wouldn't. He wouldn't have got through the night in with the kids. He'd have had a strop that the kids got the attention, or punched him for letting Leah choose the film. Not that he would have been happy spending the night in with the kids and Amy and Ally.

As if it matteedr what Brendan Brady would do. Brendan was the past. Doug was the future. Lovely, kind, supportive, loving Doug. The tashe was irrelevant.

And at no point in the last two minutes did Ste have a strong visual of being taken over the back of the sofa by a strong Irishman. That would be wrong. And unfaithful. And wrong.

Of course, lying to himself wasn't good either.

He ran a hand over his face. Nothing to do but think. That wasn't good. Maybe he should call Doug and ask to swap over. Doug wouldn't mind; he'd do anything for Ste.

No, but that looked cowardly, didn't it?

And what would he say? Sorry, I can't be in the deli on my own because I can't stop thinking about my ex? He'd decided not to lie to Doug. Not that Doug didn't deserve it after all that stuff with the cash. But he had done it all for the right reasons. But the road to hell was paved with good intention, they said. Just ask Brendan. Or Danny Houston.

Right, over analysing relationships, past and present, was not a good sign. He needed something to do. There was always something to do in a kitchen – things to clean. Things couldn't get too clean in a commercial kitchen.

He wondered out the back, and looked for stuff to clean. It wasn't going to be easy. Mostly the kitchen was sparkling, and he couldn't do any big jobs when anyone could walk in. He rearranged the store room, wiped every surface with disinfectant, cleaned every piece of kitchen equipment that was not currently in use or too hot. And still he was there, in his head, messing up Ste's relationships, messing with his head, turning him into a thief and a conman.

And part of Ste was just freaked out. He'd stolen eighty thousand pounds from Brendan Brady, from a man who'd beaten him up for kissing him at the wrong time. What was he thinking? Was he actually suicidal?

No, Brendan would never kill him. Hurt him, yes. Again and again and again. But he could never kill him, because that would be the end of this whole thing. And Brendan was no more capable of ending this than Ste was.

The door opened and closed and Ste dashed to serve the customer. Then another. Then another. Maybe business was picking up. Maybe Doug had run out of freebies and would be on his way back any moment now, and then they'd have a laugh and hold hands, and Brendan would be out of his head again.

He served the last customer. No one else on the horizon. No sign of Doug. He sighed again. Maybe he could try to design a new menu. Again.

No that failed last time. Cleaning, that worked. What else could he clean?

He knocked one of the dishes on the counter over, spraying salad all over the floor, then went to fetch a dustpan and brush. Slowly. Clearing it up took a couple of minutes at that speed. He wondered if he could wash it and put it back in the serving dish, then decided it was probably best not to risk it, they didn't need complaints about dust or hairs in their food. He sighed and took the dustpan and brush back into the store room, tossing the salad in the bin on the way.

"Steven," growled Brendan.

Brendan, who had managed to not only enter the deli without him noticing, but reach the store room, where he wasn't supposed to be.

Ste almost jumped out of his skin. He was usually so hyper aware of Brendan, being snuck up upon really made his heart race.

"Brendan," he said, trying to sound cold, but probably sounding like a scared child.

Brendan had never had any trouble seeming cold. His face was blank, unreadable, and he took a menacing step closer to Ste.

"You're not supposed to be back here Brendan," Ste said, pointlessly.

"No?" said Brendan.

Ste swallowed. "What do you want?"

Brendan laughed. "Why, what are you offering? If a couple of kisses cost eighty grand, I dread to think how much you charge for the rest."

O shit, where were other people when you needed them? Ste glanced at the door. Brendan smirked.

"Are you scared Steven?"

"No!" Ste replied. Too quickly.

"Really?" replied Brendan, now almost on top of him. "Well, you should be."

Ste shivered.

"Anyone else, Steven," Brendan whispered, "anyone else would have lost the use of their legs by now."

Ste pressed himself against the counter behind him. He was going to get beaten to a pulp. He was going to be found in the morning, face unrecognisable.

He might even still have this bloody erection.

"I can hear your heart racing, Steven," Brendan hissed.

"Doug'll be back any minute!" Ste lied.

"Will he? I just saw him going for a drink with one of his wee student friends."

"Oh," said Ste. He wondered if normal boyfriends minded when they heard such things.

"And do you really think, Steven, that if I wanted to hurt you, little Douglas could do anything about it?"

"No," Ste said, more bravely than he felt, "but he's still twice the man you are."

Brendan quirked an amused eyebrow.

"Steven, I've seen you begging for me to fuck you, I don't think you're in much of a position to question my masculinity."

The unwanted mental image of Brendan taking him over the back of a sofa rose unbidden to his mind for the second time that day. Now was not a good time for that.

"You've messed with my head too many times, Brendan. It was about time someone showed ya."

"Showed me what, Steven?" sneered Brendan, dismissively, "that you don't love me anymore? Please."

"That you don't control everyone!"

Brendan laughed derisively, but the laugh turned into a growl, and suddenly Brendan's face was in millimetres from Ste's. "You really think, after everything I've done for you, that this is about control? You think I gave you a business to control you? You think I sacked you to control you? You think I killed a man to control you?"

"Don't!" protested Ste, heart hammering in his own ears now.

"You think you can scam me out of eighty grand, and I'll walk away and never bother you? That you can hide behind little yankie Douglas, the only person in town more scared of me than you? This is not over Steven!"

"Stop!" Ste cried.

"You think that one little scam can turn off my feelings, do you? That I'll forget all about you? Well…"

It was too much. Brendan was too close, Ste was too worked up, too confused, too sexually frustrated.

Ste kissed him.

His mouth was right there, far too close to his own.

Later he would tell himself it was probably a survival instinct, after all, his and Brendan's relationship was based on the two things, wasn't it? Love and violence. He was trying to turn the latter into the former.

Yeah, that must be it.

And it had been far too long since he had sex.

The kiss lasted less than five seconds, and Ste pulled away first, in shock at what he'd just done. Brendan's face looked just as shocked as Ste felt, and he took the opportunity to push his way past his ex lover and out into the shop.

Brendan took a moment to follow. But when he did he was laughing.

"Well, that, Steven, that, was enlightening." He laughed again.

"Can you go now, please?" Ste asked, staring at the door, praying for another customer, feeling tears in his own eyes, praying they wouldn't fall and give him away.

Brendan laughed at him again, and stared for a moment longer.

"Yeah," he said quietly, then looked to the door himself. "Yeah, I'll go," he said again, "but you know what, Steven?" he whispered directly into Ste's ear, " I know where you live now. You keep pretending you're all happy and in love with your wee boyfriend. But we know better, don't we?"

Ste shook his head, still staring away from Brendan.

"See you later, Steven," sing-songed Brendan, strolling out of the shop.

Ste stood, still, shocked, for minutes after the tall man had disappeared from view.

God he hated that man sometimes. Smug, know-it-all, infuriating bastard.

**AN: Reviews are encouraged strongly! Thanks for reading! x**


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